Opinion: Pat Tillman's spirit alive and well 15 years after his death

(Editor's note: This column was originally published in the days following Pat Tillman's death on April 22, 2004.)

It's hard to believe it's been 15 years since we lost Pat Tillman.

I vividly remember that April day in 2004 when reports of his death began to circulate. A kick to the solar plexus, losing this figure who'd seemingly come out of central casting as a great American hero, an athlete, a soldier — a man — we could keep on the pedestal ad infinitum.

And Pat's void still lingers.

I think about Tillman and what he stood for quite often. I keep his No. 40 Arizona Cardinals jersey on my wall. I wear a bracelet from his foundation to keep his memory close. I've run into fans from Arizona at the Super Bowl who recognized the bracelet and shared their poignant memories of Pat with me.

Pat Tillman played four seasons for the Arizona Cardinals before joining the U.S. Army Rangers in the months following Sept. 11, 2001.(Photo: Roy Dabner, Associated Press)

I think about him every time one of my Army Ranger buddies leaves his family for yet another tour overseas — thankfully, my friends have always come home in one piece, physically anyway.

I think about the horrible way the Army mismanaged the news of Tillman's death, and I get angry that it didn't provide his family what they so righteously deserved, what every serviceman's family is unquestionably entitled to: The unvarnished truth. Pat's parents, his wife, Marie, his fellow Ranger and brother, Kevin — they all deserved far better.

I find myself striving to live up to the Tillman ideal, yet falling short.

I've had the extreme honor of working with his foundation, which attempts to honor military veterans and spouses who embody Pat's ideals with scholarships, in recent years.

And I know that even though Pat is gone, there are thousands of men and women very much like him in harm's way right now. It doesn't matter whether or not you agree with war — especially one spanning nearly two decades — at the end of the day, America's military is at the beck and call of its government. But it is a military that I believe is more than worthy of our admiration and support. By and large, the people that constitute our armed services are among the most remarkable you will ever meet.

I'll never forget Pat Tillman.

And I'll never forget those cut from the same bolt of cloth that he was.

I hope you don't either.

(I wrote the following column hours after Tillman's death. I've had requests to reprint it as it still tends to resonate for many readers. Thank you for the overwhelmingly positive feedback.)

***

I never met the Pat Tillman — never had the privilege. But I've known him all of my life.

I have a father named Pat Tillman — he liberated Kuwait in 1991. I have a grandfather named Pat Tillman — he liberated the Jews at Dachau in World War II. My college roommate's name is Pat Tillman — he's in Baghdad right now. My best friend's brother is named Pat Tillman — he's flying A-10s in Afghanistan as I write this and I've never had the honor of meeting him, either.

I was in the Army for four years myself — and gained numerous friends, associates, bosses and subordinates named Pat Tillman.

You may not realize it, but Pat Tillman is everywhere.

Like many in the media, I would have loved to have shed light on the Pat Tillman's story. But he never granted the press an interview after turning in his Arizona Cardinals cleats for U.S. Army Ranger combat boots. He never spoke to the media after walking away from a $3.6 million windfall for a $20,000 paycheck.

I suspect Tillman never shared his story because he knew what I know: In the context of the NFL, his was an amazing story; in the context of the armed services, it was relatively typical.

If you don't know the history, Pat Tillman was an honor student and the 1997 Pac-10 defensive player of the year at Arizona State after joining the Sun Devils as a walk-on years before. From 1998 to 2001, Tillman, a seventh-round draft choice, was a hard-hitting safety for the NFL's Cardinals. Most scouts weren't impressed with his size, speed, strength or the other quantifiable attributes that supposedly make up an NFL starter. But Tillman's "lack" of talent didn't stop him from making a franchise-record 224 tackles in 2000.

Apparently he had plenty of heart.

Tillman, deeply affected in the wake of the Sept. 11 attacks, left a multimillion dollar contract from the Cardinals on the table following the 2001 season. Instead, he opted to enlist in the Army with his brother, Kevin, and join the elite Rangers.

Tillman, 27, was killed in action Thursday in Afghanistan, reportedly during his second tour of duty in the Middle East.

I remember first watching him play against Ohio State in the 1997 Rose Bowl. He was a whirling dervish with long hair on the field, a guy who wasn't afraid to sell out to stop an opposing offense.

Now he's sold out for good.

I wish I could tell you more about the Pat Tillman.

But I can tell you more — a lot more about who Pat Tillman was and what he stood for.

There are tens of thousands of Pat Tillmans in Iraq and Afghanistan right now. To use football parlance, they've all punted Christmases, Thanksgivings, birthdays, childbirths, graduations, cookouts, lazy weekends and the like to serve a greater cause.

They lead lives that offer them precious few hours of sleep each night; the challenge of keeping the sand out of their eyes and ears; long stretches of boredom — waiting, thinking about their families, preparing for the next mission; and brief, harrowing bursts of time where they take their lives and their compatriots' lives into their hands while fighting for our country.

A good day in the Middle East is often comprised of a warm shower, a hot meal and a letter from family and friends. A bad day in the Middle East — well, the bad days happen much too often, just as they did Thursday.

Pat Tillman is 19. He's 39. He's married with four kids. He's single. He's from the big city. He's from the country. He's a high school graduate. He's got a Ph.D. He's black, he's white and everything in between.

And 99% of the time, Pat Tillman soldiers on without complaint or reservation or, certainly, fanfare.

As a former serviceman and current member of the media, it bothers me that headlines and sound bytes telling of dead soldiers tend to run together day after day and all too often fall on deaf ears. It saddens me that it takes the death of a Pat Tillman or the tribulations of a Jessica Lynch to remind us that wars are funded with the lives of America's best and brightest much more than they're funded by money.

Sports teams retire jerseys ostensibly to commemorate a great athlete, to signify that no one else will ever be worthy of wearing a given number again.

A statue of Arizona Cardinals football player Pat Tillman stands outside of what is now known as State Farm Stadium.(Photo: Rob Schumacher, Arizona Republic)

The Arizona Cardinals should retire Tillman's No. 40 right now — clearly no one can ever fill his shoes. They should paint the 40-yard lines red, white, and blue. They should name their new venue Pat Tillman Field at (Fill-in-the-blank) Stadium. (Editor's note: The Cardinals retired Tillman's number immediately after his death and unveiled a bronze statue of him after moving into their new building in 2006.)

I hope the Cardinals and the NFL do everything in their power to always remind us of the Pat Tillman — and of all of those men and women like him.

We forget about the Pat Tillmans of the world all too often and much too easily.

Nate Davis covers the NFL for USA TODAY. He served as a captain in the U.S. Army's field artillery from 1996 to 2000. He was primarily stationed at Fort Bragg, N.C., but was deployed to Kuwait as part of Operations Intrinsic Action and Desert Fox from August 1998 to March 1999.